_Dio._ O my Dearest! When man has cast off his ambitious greatness, And sunk into the sweetness of himself; Built his foundation upon honest thoughts, Not great, but good desires his daily servants; How quie[t]ly he sleeps! how joyfully He wakes again, and looks on his possessions, And from his willing labours feeds with pleasure? Here hang no Comets in the shapes of Crowns, To shake our sweet contents: nor here, _Drusilla_, Cares, like Eclipses, darken our endeavours: We love here without rivals, kiss with innocence; Our thoughts as gentle as our lips; our children The double heirs both of our forms and faiths. _Dru._ I am glad ye make this right use of this sweetness, This sweet retiredness. _Dio._ 'Tis sweet indeed, love, And every circumstance about it, shews it. How liberal is the spring in every place here? The artificial Court shews but a shadow, A painted imitation of this glory. Smell to this flower, here nature has her excellence: Let all the perfumes of the Empire pass this, The carefull'st Ladies cheek shew such a colour, They are gilded and adulterate vanities. And here in Povertie dwells noble nature. What pains we take to cool our wines, to allay us, [_Musick below._ And bury quick the fuming god to quench us, Methinks this Crystal Well.--Ha! what strange Musick? 'Tis underneath, sure: how it stirs and joys me? How all the birds set on? the fields redouble Their odoriferous sweets? Hark how the echo's-- _Enter a Spirit from the Well._ _Drus._ See, Sir, those flowers From out the Well, spring to your entertainment. _Enter_ Delphia. _Dio._ Bless me. _Dru._ Be not afraid, 'tis some good Angel That's come to welcome ye. _Del._ Go near and hear, Son. [_SONG._ _Dio._ O Mother, thank ye, thank ye, this was your will. _Del._ You shall not want delights to bless your presence. Now ye are honest, all the Stars shall honour ye. _Enter Shepherds and dancers._ Stay, here are Country-shepherds; here is some sport too, And you must grace it, Sir; 'twas meant to welcom ye; A King shall never feel your joy. Sit down Son. _A dance of Shepherds and Shepherdesses_; Pan _leading_ _the men_, Ceres _the maids_. Hold, hold, my Messenger appears: leave off, friends, Leave off a while, and breathe. _Dio._ What news? ye are pale, Mother. _Del._ No, I am careful of thy safety, Son, Be not affrighted, but sit still; I am with thee. _Enter_ Maximinian, Aurelia, _Souldiers_. And now dance out your dance. Do you know that person? Be not amaz'd, but let him shew his dreadfullest. _Max._ How confident he sits amongst his pleasures, And what a chearful colour shews in's face, And yet he sees me too, the Souldiers with me.